the severity of my situation, Mr. Smith.”
He felt the warmth of her body seeping into his skin and attempted to ignore it. “Which situation is that, Mrs. Winslow?”
“As a widow, my wardrobe must reflect my grief—”
He raised an eyebrow, but she continued on, ignoring his reaction.
“—but I must pay homage to my husband’s success as well.”
“Do you really think it’s necessary to waste so much…energy on such decisions?”
“Absolutely.”
He couldn’t prevent a snort of disbelief.
Her shoulders stiffened in injured pride, and when she spoke, her words held a ring of sincerity.
“You would be surprised, Mr. Smith. Maybe in your world people aren’t judged, but in mine, life is a constant trial of merit. One is rated and deemed worthy or unworthy by adhering to a rigid set of standards. Hems, cuffs, colors, fasteners—each has its proper place and time of day. A slight deviation can mean ostracism.”
“Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
“No, Mr. Smith. I have seen women cut off from polite society for the slightest infraction of these unspoken rules. It isn’t enough merely to be of a good family, one must also display an innate understanding of such matters. Appearance is everything.”
He searched her features, realizing that it was “the marquess” who spoke, not Phoebe Gray, a woman who had been fired from her position as a companion because she had been attractive enough to capture the attention of her employer’s husband.
“I should think that if your world of privilege is so narrow-minded, you would consider one with far more freedom.”
“And where would I find such a place?”
He pretended to think, then said, “The American West, perhaps? Somewhere like… Oregon.”
Although he thought she flinched slightly, he couldn’t be sure.
“Are you so certain that… Oregon is such a paradise?”
“I can guarantee that in a place where women are still outnumbered two to one, the fabric of a woman’s bonnet strings hardly matters.”
“I’m sure that even the American Territories have their own brand of prejudices. If a woman’s décolletage was too low, her clothes too new, her shoes too dainty… I’m sure any of those elements could cause talk, even in the wilderness.”
Sadly, Neil had to concede that she was right.
“So what do you think, Mr. Smith?” She held up the bonnet again. “This one?” She pointed to a bonnet Chloe held. “That one?” The shopkeeper, an elderly rotund woman with pink cheeks, entered, and Louisa motioned her closer. “Or this one?”
Neil glanced at each of the hats. They were small and black, and he could see little difference between them.
“That one.” He pointed to the hat that Louisa held, caring little which one she bought as long as she completed the task as soon as possible.
“Do you really think so?” She frowned, her gaze bouncing from one bonnet to the other. “Perhaps I would have an easier decision if I could see them modeled.” She turned to the shopkeeper. “Would you mind, Mrs. Eddleton?”
The shopkeeper offered a girlish giggle. “Not at all, my dear.”
She set the bonnet on her silvered curls, anchored it in place with a long hatpin, then tied the ribbon beneath her ear.
“Very lovely,” Louisa murmured as Mrs. Eddleton turned in a circle.
“Chloe?”
The maid eagerly pinned the second hat to her own golden curls.
“Mmm. I like that one, too.”
Louisa stared at the bonnet in her hand, then at the two being displayed. “I really can’t decide. Unless…”
Neil knew what she meant to do the moment she stepped toward him.
“No.”
She gazed at him with utmost innocence. “Really, Mr. Smith, there’s no cause for worry. I simply need your assistance.”
She reached up.
“No.”
Her frown was coy. “Are you afraid that helping me will prove a threat to your masculinity?” She turned to the other women. “We won’t tell, will we?”
The shopkeeper giggled again. “I
He felt the warmth of her body seeping into his skin and attempted to ignore it. “Which situation is that, Mrs. Winslow?”
“As a widow, my wardrobe must reflect my grief—”
He raised an eyebrow, but she continued on, ignoring his reaction.
“—but I must pay homage to my husband’s success as well.”
“Do you really think it’s necessary to waste so much…energy on such decisions?”
“Absolutely.”
He couldn’t prevent a snort of disbelief.
Her shoulders stiffened in injured pride, and when she spoke, her words held a ring of sincerity.
“You would be surprised, Mr. Smith. Maybe in your world people aren’t judged, but in mine, life is a constant trial of merit. One is rated and deemed worthy or unworthy by adhering to a rigid set of standards. Hems, cuffs, colors, fasteners—each has its proper place and time of day. A slight deviation can mean ostracism.”
“Aren’t you being a little dramatic?”
“No, Mr. Smith. I have seen women cut off from polite society for the slightest infraction of these unspoken rules. It isn’t enough merely to be of a good family, one must also display an innate understanding of such matters. Appearance is everything.”
He searched her features, realizing that it was “the marquess” who spoke, not Phoebe Gray, a woman who had been fired from her position as a companion because she had been attractive enough to capture the attention of her employer’s husband.
“I should think that if your world of privilege is so narrow-minded, you would consider one with far more freedom.”
“And where would I find such a place?”
He pretended to think, then said, “The American West, perhaps? Somewhere like… Oregon.”
Although he thought she flinched slightly, he couldn’t be sure.
“Are you so certain that… Oregon is such a paradise?”
“I can guarantee that in a place where women are still outnumbered two to one, the fabric of a woman’s bonnet strings hardly matters.”
“I’m sure that even the American Territories have their own brand of prejudices. If a woman’s décolletage was too low, her clothes too new, her shoes too dainty… I’m sure any of those elements could cause talk, even in the wilderness.”
Sadly, Neil had to concede that she was right.
“So what do you think, Mr. Smith?” She held up the bonnet again. “This one?” She pointed to a bonnet Chloe held. “That one?” The shopkeeper, an elderly rotund woman with pink cheeks, entered, and Louisa motioned her closer. “Or this one?”
Neil glanced at each of the hats. They were small and black, and he could see little difference between them.
“That one.” He pointed to the hat that Louisa held, caring little which one she bought as long as she completed the task as soon as possible.
“Do you really think so?” She frowned, her gaze bouncing from one bonnet to the other. “Perhaps I would have an easier decision if I could see them modeled.” She turned to the shopkeeper. “Would you mind, Mrs. Eddleton?”
The shopkeeper offered a girlish giggle. “Not at all, my dear.”
She set the bonnet on her silvered curls, anchored it in place with a long hatpin, then tied the ribbon beneath her ear.
“Very lovely,” Louisa murmured as Mrs. Eddleton turned in a circle.
“Chloe?”
The maid eagerly pinned the second hat to her own golden curls.
“Mmm. I like that one, too.”
Louisa stared at the bonnet in her hand, then at the two being displayed. “I really can’t decide. Unless…”
Neil knew what she meant to do the moment she stepped toward him.
“No.”
She gazed at him with utmost innocence. “Really, Mr. Smith, there’s no cause for worry. I simply need your assistance.”
She reached up.
“No.”
Her frown was coy. “Are you afraid that helping me will prove a threat to your masculinity?” She turned to the other women. “We won’t tell, will we?”
The shopkeeper giggled again. “I
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